The Violet Hour
by J.Wolfe
Summary: Stiles is magic. Sterek is endgame. Shenanigans. No one is dead. Yet.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****Erica and Boyd did not die because the Alpha Pack was dumb and just straight up attacked and shit. There was still the Darach and the Nogitsune and the dead pool and Kate and Peter shit, but Allison didn't die because they had extra help with the Oni and they haven't found Malia yet because the sheriff has been too focused on all these teenagers running around to look into old cases. Also, no Liam because I have too many characters to deal with as is.**

**Alrighty! Write me notes because it helps me stay productive and making better stories! :)**

**Hope you like it :D**

* * *

"What's in a name?" he reads aloud. "That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet."

"Do you guys really have to do that here?" Derek asks as he descends the steps in his loft. Why he ever gave his teenage pack members the code to the door, he'll never know.

"Where else are we going to do it?" Erica snarks. Derek though her sass was humorous back when he was her Alpha, but being on the receiving end is nowhere near as fun. "All the other kids have taken the good spots around the school and my mom won't let us practice at my house because she hates Shakespeare."

"Why can't you go to Stiles house?" he snipes back.

The two loft invading teens roll their eyes in synchronicity. "My dad only lets me leave the house for school and pack stuff at your loft because he knows it's important. And I need to get out of my house sometimes, Derek! We can't all be homebodies like you!"

"I'm not a homebody," Derek contests solemnly.

"Hey, Derek," Boyd calls as he, Isaac and Scott enter the loft. "The three of us are going on a run. You wanna come?"

"No thanks," the eldest werewolf chides. Stiles smirks, calling him out. "Fine. Actually," he turns back to the trio at his door, "I will join you." He puts his book down on the counter and goes to put on some running shorts.

"What are you guys doing?" Scott asks as he walks over to join his best friend and Erica.

"Just practicing for our drama presentation," Stiles answers.

"But soft!" Erica chides ironically loudly. "What light through yonder window breaks?"

"Nice," Scott laughs

"Kinda weird though, don't you think?" Boyd asks.

"What?" Isaac questions with a confused raise of an eyebrow.

"Erica is Romeo," Derek says as he descends the stairs again in his running shorts and tennis shoes. No shirt though. _Fucking werewolves and their hatred of clothing_, Stiles thinks to himself.

"But..." Scott starts putting the pieces together. "That would make Stiles..."

"Juliet," Derek finishes for him. "It's probably a good choice on their part. Stiles makes a better damsel in distress," he snarks, giving his self-impressed smirk that makes the human teen just want to slap him in the face.

"It wasn't my idea," Stiles retorts indignantly. "There was a list of options for how to change your play excerpt for performance and this one was the least work," he pouts.

"Plus, Erica's probably too heavy to stand on the balcony," Isaac adds rudely. Boyd punches his friend so hard he flies into the adjacent wall six feet away.

Erica smirks at her boyfriend and returns happily to her reading, "It is the east, and Julius is the sun. Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon!"

Stiles makes fleeting eye contact with the sourwolf as the four leave the loft, but returns his eyes quickly to the book in hand.

* * *

When the guys get back from their run, Erica is playing idly with Stiles hair as she sits on the couch behind him and they watch some reality TV show on the giant LCD Stiles insisted Derek buy for the mandatory pack meetings/ sleepovers. "You guys stink," Erica says flatly, pinching her nose and waving at the air in front of her face. Boyd walks over and rubs his face at her neck in play retaliation.

"Ugh," Stiles retches. "Even I think you guys reek. What did you run into some were-skunks?" Scott smirks at him, but the Isaac just waves him off and Derek gets his typical dealing-with-Stiles jaw clench. "Seriously, though, you guys need to shower," he remarks.

"Whatever," Scott chides. "I'm headed home anyway. Did you still want to work on our history project Isaac?"

The taller Beta's ears perk and he nods, "Lemme just grab a shirt real quick."

"We should go too, babe," Erica tells Boyd. "We've got reservations at 7." He just nods to her and gives her a hand up off the couch. "Don't forget your costume stuff for class tomorrow, Stiles!" she calls over her shoulder as they slink out of the loft. He nods back his response, still kind of paying more attention to the bickering housewives on the screen.

"Alright," Isaac calls on his way down the stairs. "I'll probably be home around 11 Derek! I'll text you if I'm sleeping at Scott's!" The pair of Betas wave as they head out the door and Stiles absent-mindedly waves back.

After another ten minutes of done up middle aged women discussing their rigorous beauty routines and party planning, Derek walks out of the bathroom with a towel loosely wrapped around his still wet body.

"What are you still doing here?" he asks with that typical sourwolf tone.

"Huh," Stiles replies dumbly, turning from the TV. Momentarily distracted by the sight of a mostly naked, dripping wet, muscle-wolf, he shakes his head before he continues snarkily, "I'm watching TV." He point to the device on the wall with a 'duh' face.

"I can see that," Derek grits out indignantly. "But you're the only one still here. Why don't you go watch TV at your house?"

"Because your TV is bigger," Stiles shrugs like this is the dumbest line of questions ever. Because, really, it is. Derek sighs a great, put-upon sigh of frustration and walks over to the teen sitting on his floor, hoisting him up by the armpits and pushing him toward the door. "Hey!" Stiles shouts as he's manhandled. "What the hell?!"

"Go home, Stiles," Derek sighs commandingly. How is it even possible to make a sigh commanding? Derek Hale: enigma.

Stiles shrugs, gripping the bag of chips he'd filched from Derek's pantry, as he backs out the door.

"Good night," Derek says roughly as Stiles crosses the threshold and he grips the sliding door.

"Good night!" Stiles barks. "Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night 'til it be morrow!" Derek just shakes his head and rolls the door quickly shut.


	2. Chapter 2

The night is pretty uneventful. Stiles packs all of his costume stuff for drama class into his backpack. It's mostly just a bunch of silky white and lavender fabrics with some gold bands that hold it all together and a circlet for his head.

After that, he makes dinner and puts a plate in the microwave for his dad since he's apparently working late tonight. He goes upstairs and plops down in front of his computer, scrolling some of the supernatural chat pages and forums to avoid doing his chemistry homework.

One of the chat rooms, "arcanists anonymous," usually has some particularly good stuff on spells. But, unless you really know what they're talking about, it's pretty hard to decipher. Stiles has tried to get Deaton to fill him in on the whole magic thing, but all he's done thus far is give Stiles mountain ash powder and some wooden beads. And no explanations. That guy. So confusing. He and Derek should form a band: the Enigma Brothers.

Anyway, he's on the AA webpage when he suddenly gets a private message:

**cdwen9x9**: you're new

**Red24**: yes... ?

**cdwen9x9**: do you cast?

**Red24**: no?

**cdwen9x9**: do you want to?

This is getting ridiculous, Stiles thinks. This is probably just one of those pieces of code that draws you to some website where they sell fake magic books and crystals. He ignores the messages and keeps scrolling through the nearly indecipherable ramblings of hundreds of modern witches. Five minutes later, the private chat box pings again.

**cdwen9x9**: check your windowsill

"What?" Stiles huffs in confusion. He looks over at his window. Nothing seems different. He walks over and unlatches the lock. He slides the window up slowly, and, lo and behold, a small leather bundle has appeared. "The fuck?" he breathes, leaning out of his window to look around. But, no one's there.

He takes the bundle, slams his window shut, latching it again and laying a mountain ash line across it, and gets back in front of his computer. He types as quickly as is humanly possible:

**Red24**: What the hell is this?!

He waits five minutes but there's no response.

**Red24**: ANSWER ME

**cdwen9x9 has logged off**.

"Goddammit," Stiles huffs indignantly. He runs his hands through his hair, stopping when his eyes fall on the small leather bundle. He's locked in a staring contest with it for a solid minute. It finally wins and he grabs it, fumbling to quickly undo the straps binding it shut.

After a prolonged struggle, the intricate knots are undone and he uses his forearm to wipe the papers and various school supplies off one side of his desk onto the floor. He places the loose bundle in the center of his desk and just looks at it again for a bit.

It's that weird state of anticipation, where you're not sure what's going to happen but you feel like _**something**_ is going to happen, and it's going to be important. He takes a really deep breath and delicately folds back the flaps to reveal...

A bunch of random herbs and a string of wooden beads that look pretty similar to the ones Deaton gave him. Underneath all of that though, he sees a scrap of paper. He pulls out what looks like a centuries old grocery list. Except there isn't even writing on it. Just a bunch of horizontal lines with tick marks on them.

"Great," he sighs, dropping the paper and leaning back in his chair. Another mystery. Fan-fucking-tastic. Has he mentioned yet how much he hates mysteries? Because he does. He hates 'em. Mysteries, enigmas, vagaries, ambiguities, secrets. All of it.

He sits up with an epiphany. This must've been Deaton. He's slowly giving Stiles the tools for his magic. And that means that one of Deaton's books will give him an idea of what all of this is.

A noise downstairs distracts him. The door closes and he hears keys rattling as they're deposited in the hook by the door. "Stiles?" he calls, clearly having seen the light coming from the top of the stairs. The teen checks the clock in his nightstand, realizing it's already 2 in the morning.

Stiles goes out in the hall so they can see each other. "Yeah?" he responds.

"Why are you still awake?" the sheriff interrogates mildly.

"I was... Doing research?" He supplies hopefully.

His father gives a great, put upon sigh. He and Derek should form a band where they just sigh exasperatedly at Stiles. They could make some killer harmonies. "School or Pack?" the sheriff inquires.

"School," Stiles blurts perhaps a bit too quickly. His dad knows about the supernatural stuff, but he doesn't know his son is trying to learn magic. And Stiles would like to keep it that way. Besides, no need making his dad think there's some new monster of the week, since there hasn't been for a while now.

His dad sighs again. "Alright," he sounds exhausted. "Get some sleep. It's a school night."

"Aye-aye, sheriff," Stiles salutes, heading to the bathroom to clean up before sinking into his wonderfully comfortable mattress.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles stretches lazily as he comes to from sleep. Yawning as he looks over toward his window, he notes the brightness outside and turns his head so quickly toward the alarm clock he might have whiplash. 8:10am: he's definitely going to be late.

He literally jumps out of bed and into a pair of pants, pulls a soft hoodie quickly over his head and grabs his backpack, bolting out of his room. He runs right back in to grab his forgotten phone and thanks god that he packed his costume last night otherwise Erica would've killed him. Literally. With her werewolf claws.

He shoots Scott a text to cover for him in home room as he shoves the majority of a muffin into his mouth and starts the Jeep.

So he broke like 17 traffic laws in an attempt to get to school on time, that doesn't mean they need to pull him over. "Stiles," the deputy says as he approaches the Jeep's driver side window.

"Parrish!" Stiles greets. "Hey, buddy! What's up? I was just trying to get to school on time. Can you just give me a break this one time?" He smiles with all his teeth and all the sincerity he can muster.

Parrish laughs quietly to himself, but scribbles on his ticket book and rips off a sheet. "Don't tell your dad," he smiles.

Stiles shakes his head in confusion and looks at the ticket he was just handed while Parrish turns to go back to his squad car. In big letters, the ticket reads, "YOU OWE ME ONE."

"Thanks, dude!" Stiles yells out the window as he slams on the acceleration and heads towards the school. It's nice that Parrish is in the supernatural loop now, Stiles thinks.

"Mr. Stilinski," the portly old history teacher drawls as Stiles tries to sneak quietly into the classroom. Stiles freezes, chancing a quick glance at Scott, who just gives him a wide-eyed '_what took you so long?_' look. "I was beginning to think you fell in. Are you sure you don't need to see the nurse?"

The class quietly snickers at him. As per usual. He just rolls with it, shrugging, "Nah. Unless she owns that new taco place on Grand, in which case I have a few choice words for her." He nods, chuckling a little to himself as he takes the open seat near the back of the room and the rest of the class just shake their heads at him.

"Dude," Stiles starts as he meets up with Scott in the hall before lunch. "Weirdest shit happened last night." Scott makes eye contact and they continue toward the cafeteria. "So, in sitting at my desk researching, ya know, _our_ kind of stuff, when this random person starts messaging me about whether or not I do, ya know, Deaton's kind of _stuff_. And then they tell me to check outside my window and there's this little like, pouch thing. And I open it and it's got herbs and this old piece of paper and I'm like, what the fu- Hey Ms. Peterson," he waves as they walk by the teacher. He brings his voice back down as they enter the cafeteria. "I'm pretty sure it was Deaton."

"Yeah, cool," Scott says, looking off into the distance and clearly not paying attention to his best friend's current situation.

"Scott," he says, but the teen wolf doesn't respond. "Scott, are you even listening?"

"Yeah, of course," he shrugs. "What do you think they're laughing about?" he asks, pointing across the lunchroom with his chin.

Stiles follows Scott's line of sight and sees Allison and Kira giggling about something quietly at the normal Pack table. "I don't know. You're the one with bat ears." Scott gives a quick leer. "Sorry, wolf ears."

"It's too loud in here and they're whispering," Scott laments.

"So what?" Stiles shrugs. "They're both in the pack. Besides, you and Isaac hang out all the time." Scott tenses. "They can be friends if they want, Scott," he pats his friend on the back and grabs an apple to put in his tray before heading over to the table. "'Sup guys?" Stiles greets.

The group nods in return. With no bump in the night baddies around for the last couple weeks, there's not much focus to the lunch conversations and everyone just discusses homecoming and what not. Stiles has more or less decided to go stag this year, since literally everyone else in the group are paired up and if someone not in the know was his date, things could seriously weird really fast if there's a creature feature situation. He could always ask Danny, since he's in the know and not currently in a relationship, but Stiles isn't sure how he feels about coming out. He's not even sure he likes dudes. It's just kind of a thing he's not really put a lot of thought into. What with the murderous monsters and humans alike that he's had to deal with the last two years.

"Stiles," Lydia says with a snap of her fingers in front of his face, clearly not the first time she said his name. He snaps his attention to her. "The bell rang. Come on, walk me to AP Psych."

"Right," he says, grabbing their trays and depositing them at the receptacle by the door on their way out.


	4. Chapter 4

"Come _on_, Stiles," Erica pouts angrily outside the boys' bathroom. "I'm sure you look fine and we have to go perform for the class."

"Ugh," he whines indignantly as he bursts through the door in his white and pale violet flowing drapes. "Laugh and I will kill you," he points threateningly. "Don't think I can't," he reminds as she stifles a giggle.

The short walk down the hall is, thank god, witnessed only by a few freshmen, easily death glared into silence.

"We're ready," Erica calls as they come through the door into the drama class. A few of the boys choke down chuckles at Stiles' get up, but most of the drama girls give approving nods. Stiles blushes as they begin reciting their scene.

* * *

"_No_," Stiles hisses at her. Erica just elbows him, hard, in the ribs.

"We would _love_ that, Ms. Triveni," Erica coos and the teacher smiles and walks away. She turns to her partner and chides, "This will be good for you."

"_**What**_?!" he remarks. "How will getting on stage and performing an entire play as the _**female**_ lead be good for me?"

Erica scoffs. "You should have smelled the arousal in here. From the girls. And Josh. Directed _at you_. I don't understand why, but apparently you look hot in that outfit," she shrugs and heads out of the room.

"How is this my life?" he laments to the ceiling as the second bell rings and he's already late for his last class of the day. "Shit."

He books it down the hallway, wispy trails flowing out behind him mockingly. He mumbles his hate for drama as he enters AP Calculus and everyone looks at him like he's grown an extra head.

"Mr. Stilinski," the teacher calmly chastises, making Stiles wonder what the record for most teachers reprimanding a single student in a day is. He's pretty sure he'd win that one. Mr. Rainer just gestures to Stiles clothes in question.

"I got out of drama class late. No time to change," he explains with a shrug.

"Fine," the teacher accepts. "Sit in the back."

* * *

"Quite the fashion statement," Lydia remarks as they get out of calc and walk to their lockers. Stiles just sighs, his mostly exposed shoulders sagging. "Really," she nods, "can I have it, we're about the same size."

"Sorry, Lyds," he says stopping next to the bathroom near their lockers. She gives him a confused expression, so he explains begrudgingly, "Apparently I've been drafted to be one of the leads in this semester's play. We're doing Romea and Julius. The entire thing. In front of the entire school."

"Go you," she congratulates proudly. He makes a shocked face of betrayal and she shrugs him off. "What? It's gonna look great on college applications and since I'm going to beat you for valedictorian, you're gonna need it," she winks. He goes to open the door, but both of their phones vibrate. He knows it's a Pack text and his phone's in his jeans in his backpack, so he just waits for Lydia to tell him. "How long does it take you to change?" she asks.

"Like fifteen minutes: this thing's complicated," he looks up at her consoling face. "No," he starts.

"I'm really sorry," she says.

"Seriously, no," he pleas, pushing into the bathroom.

She grabs his arm. "Derek says now. You need to drive me to his place. Jackson's already out at the preserve."

"Come on!" Stiles laments as the petite strawberry blonde drags him toward the parking lot.

* * *

They arrive at the old Hale house and park alongside the other cars. They're the last ones there and Stiles can see movement through the gaps in the boards on the front windows. "I'm just gonna change and then come in," he suggests, reaching for his backpack.

Lydia smacks his hand. "Come on, you big baby. I can guarantee you won't _die_ of embarrassment," she winks. She's getting better at making banshee jokes. He groans again at the sheer ridiculous torture that is his life before hopping out of the Jeep and walking toward the burnt shell of what was once a home.

"You're late," Derek says, turning and then freezing at the sight.

"Yep," Stiles throws his hands up. "Yuck it up, asshats. But isn't there some big emergency that was so time sensitive it kept me from changing my clothes?"

Some of the Betas have confused expressions, but Derek clears his throat and answers, "Trolls."

* * *

"I swear to god!" Stiles yells as he's hurling mountain ash powder to get the trolls all turned around. "If I stain this thing, I'm gonna be **so** pissed!"

"I thought you hated it!" Erica called from where she was dodging flying tree trunks.

"It still took me eight hours to make!" he shouts back. Across the bloody field of battle, werewolves, a huntress, and a banshee smirk with various degrees of humor.


	5. Chapter 5

"Stiles," the sheriff says confused as the teen comes through the front door. "What are you wearing?"

"Such. A long. Story," he says dramatically. "Drama class. Juliet. Semester play. Lydia. Trolls. I'm going to bed." He waves to his dad and ascends the steps.

"We're discussing this in the morning!" Sheriff Stilinski calls after him.

Stiles doesn't even bother responding as he drops his backpack on the floor of his dark room and flops on his comfy bed. He sighs contentedly and aims to drift straight to sleep.

But, then there's a tapping sound at his window so he glances over. And almost has a heart attack when a pair of glowing red eyes greet him. Recovering his breath, he gets off his bed, closes his door quietly, and opens the window. "No," he states blankly at the creepy creeper outside.

"I didn't even say-"

"No," Stiles repeats. "I'm tired- No, I'm _exhausted_, and I'm going to bed."

"I kn-" Derek tries to climb in past him, but is stopped by the mountain ash line on the sill. He makes a scowly face at the dark powder like that will compel it to break.

"So, now that we've established you're not coming in, I'm going to bed." He puts a hand on the window handle, but Derek gives him this look. Wait... Stiles knows that look. But Derek can't... No... No. "Are you _actually_ trying to use puppy dog eyes on me?" he asks indignantly. Derek's face regresses to near blank constipation. "Because you weren't pulling it off." Now he looks offended and Stiles kinda feels like a dick. "Ugh, okay. Say what it is you came to say and then let me sleep."

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Derek supplies softly, if not with a tinge of bitterness.

"I'm fine," Stiles replies immediately. "Why? Do I smell injured?" He looks around his body and pulls at the fabric of his costume to make sure he's not bleeding anywhere.

"No," Derek shakes his head. "You just, uh. You..."

"Oh my god, Derek, spit it out," Stiles barks quietly, mindful that his dad is still just downstairs and he's already going to interrogate Stiles for his get up and the word 'trolls' in the morning.

Derek snarls, but Stiles glances at the barrier on the sill and then gives him an unimpressed smirk. The Alpha composes himself and gets back to what he was saying. "You smelled _off_ earlier."

"Oh," Stiles scoffs. "That was probably the roiling pit of embarrassment that was my life today." He pulls on the fabric of the outfit near his thighs to emphasize.

"Right," Derek agrees. "Okay."

"Anything else?" Stiles asks dismissively.

"Um, no. Nothing at the moment. Just, uh..."

"Okay, you've gotta stop this whole ellipses routine. I'm too tired for it."

"Nevermind," Derek growls angrily. "Sleep well," he dismisses sourly as he vaults off the roof.

"Whatever, sourwolf," Stiles sighs loud enough that he knows he's been heard. He closes his window and falls asleep in seconds.

* * *

"Get up, kiddo," the sheriff commands as he shakes Stiles shoulder.

The rest weary teen glances at his clock to that it's only 6:30. "Ugh, dad, have you turned evil all of a sudden?" he slurs, pulling a pillow over his head to shield him from the sunlight coming in through the window.

"You owe me an explanation," the older man continues. "Why are there trolls and why are you dressed like one of those Lords of the Kings characters?"

Stiles rips the pillow off his face in shocked offense. "_Lord_ of the _Rings, _Dad," he berates. His dad just gives him a stern look of 'not the point' and Stiles sighs. "There are trolls because... I don't know. There are just trolls. But we took care of them." The sheriff looks impressed, but Stiles waves it off as a not big deal. "I'm dressed like this because of the project I was doing with Erica for drama class. We were doing Romeo and Juliet. But with the genders swapped." Sheriff Stilinski takes in a breath but still looks confused. "Things happened kind of fast and I didn't have time to change."

"Okay," the sheriff says. "We'll call that good for now. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't been turned into some magical elf or something."

"Ha," Stiles laughs perhaps a bit on the fake side. "Magic?" He shakes his head. "No such thing, Dad." He waves at it like the idea is an annoying fly. The sheriff gets a funny look like he thinks his son may have actually gone insane, but waves it off.

"Maybe not," the sheriff says as he walks into the hall. "But there's no such thing as werewolves or trolls either!" he calls on his way out.

Stiles flops back down and passes out for another hour and a half.

* * *

"Aw," Isaac coos when Stiles approaches him and Scott at school the next morning. "What happened to your fancy outfit?"

"Can it, Lahey," the non-wolf teen says with as much disdain as he can muster.

The curly haired wolf revels in the animosity. "But this is my favorite past time," he smirks.

"These violent delights have violent ends, Mr. Lahey," Ms. Triveni smiles from behind them. Isaac smiles weakly at her in a sort of apology. "I don't suppose I could count on you to try out for the semester play?" She asks politely, holding out a small flyer announcing Romea and Julius as the fall play and audition times.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever," Isaac responds, taking the flyer.

"And you, Mr. McCall?" Scott nods and takes a flyer as well.

"God, she's weird," Isaac sighs when she's out of earshot. He crumples up the paper and tosses it in the trash.


	6. Chapter 6

The school day is pretty uneventful, though there is some discussion of trolls at lunch. Lydia thinks they were drawn by the Nemeton's being reinvigorated. Allison contends that they may have been drawn by the growing Hale pack or by Scott developing Alpha status. Stiles proposes no ideas but suggests that they discuss something else since they killed half of the trolls and sent the rest running for the hills.

* * *

After school, Stiles heads to Deaton's clinic. He'd packed the bundle with him that morning and intended to confront the overly cryptic vet. "Deaton?" Stiles calls upon entering and ringing the bell on the counter.

"I'm with a patient," he calls back. "Please take a seat and I'll be with you shortly." Stiles rolls his eyes, but does as instructed. He reads an article in one of the magazines about how dogs seem to have various kinds of ESP. He's just finishing a section on canine-ghost interactions when Deaton rounds the corner. "What can I help you with, Stiles?"

"What is this?" Stiles demands, flopping the bundle down on the counter.

"Well," Deaton says, looking pensive. "It appears to be a leather pouch of some sort. May I?" He gestures to the strips tying it sealed. Stiles nods and the not-just-a-vet makes quick work of opening the bundle. He looks up, then back at the contents and then settles a possibly concerned gaze on the teen in front of him. "Where did you get this?" he asks solemnly and with a grave urgency to his voice.

"I thought... You didn't put it on my windowsill?" Stiles asks disbelievingly.

"No," Deaton replies quickly. He glances around the room. Moving with clear direction, the man flips the sign and the lock on the door and beckons Stiles toward the back of the shop. "Circumstances require that we proceed ahead of schedule."

"What?" Stiles questions as he follows. Deaton lays the bundle on an empty metal examination table. Quickly retrieving a book from behind a bunch of vet supplies in a cabinet, he opens it to a page and lines it up with the scrap of paper Stiles thought looked like a grocery list. "They match," Stiles breathes.

"Yes," Deaton confirms. "It's ancient Ogham script. It's what the Druids and other practitioners used long ago."

"So..." Stiles draws out. "What? There's another druid in Beacon Hills who wants to teach me magic? That doesn't necessarily sound like a bad thing to me."

Deaton sighs. "No, Stiles. Druids are peaceful and benevolent. That's not what concerns me. I think we probably have a coven in town and their looking to recruit."

"Hold on," Stiles waves, surprised by Deaton's being so forthcoming. "You're saying there's a coven of... of... of what?"

"Witches," Deaton supplies.

"Okay," Stiles nods. "There's a coven of witches. And they want to recruit... Me?"

"Yes."

"Why would they want me?" Stiles interrogates. "I can barely do the mountain ash spells."

"For now," Deaton says. "But covens are like werewolf packs. The more members there are, the stronger each individual, and especially the leader, becomes."

"Okay," Stiles says, nodding and rubbing his hands together. "So, you're going to actually teach me now so I can fight these witches?" he asks hopefully.

"No," Deaton deadpans.

"What?!" Stiles shouts, and dogs start barking in their cages so he lowers his voice when he continues. "But you said we were going to 'proceed ahead of schedule'?"

"Yes. And I told you about Ogham script."

Stiles rubs his temples in exasperation. "That's like... Nothing! What am I even supposed to do with that?"

"Call Derek," Deaton says calmly.

"_What_?" Stiles head is spinning. He as so sure that Deaton was suddenly just going to start telling things to him straight and stop being so damn enigmatic, but then he flips the switch and he's back to speaking in riddles.

"You need to warn him about the coven so the pack can be prepared," Deaton explains calmly. He wraps the leather bundle up but takes the book with the translations back to his cupboard. "Now, you need to leave. I have patients to tend to."

"Wha- Jus- Wai- Guh!" Stiles throws his arms up, slams them on the metal table, grabs his bundle and huffs out of the vet's office.

* * *

He picks up halfway through the first ring. "Stiles," Derek says roughly over the connection. "What's wrong?"

"Calm down, Derek," he says in his best 'you're being a weird idiot' voice. And then he puts on his best 'not a big deal' voice to say, "There's just a coven of witches in town, nbd."

Derek sighs in irritation. "Call the others. Get here. Now."

"Aye-aye, were-cap," Stiles obeys and hangs up to the pleasant sound of snarling.

* * *

"So... Witches are a thing?" Kira asks.

"Apparently," Stiles shrugs.

"And they want to recruit _you_?" Jackson sneers.

"Hey! I'm totally desirable!" Stiles retorts.

"I can think of someone who'd agree with that," Erica comments, earning sharp looks from the other werewolves and confusion from Stiles.

"Enough," Derek growls and everyone hushes. "There's ten of us and we'll need to stay in groups as much as possible."

"Well, that's fine for us," Scott says, "we're all in school together. But what about you?"

"I'll be fine," Derek contends. "Werewolves can't cast magic and they're still recruiting. I'm mostly concerned about Stiles. As well as Lydia, Allison, and Kira."

"Wait, what?" Kira chimes.

"Kitsune can use magic. Not as much as most witches, but you'd probably still be a good addition to their coven. Did your mom not tell you?" Derek asks dubiously.

"Uh, no..." she replies softly. Scott pulls her into his side a little more to comfort her.

"So," Derek continues, "stay close together at school and we'll stay in pairs at night."

"I don't think that's much of an issue," Lydia laughs softly as she gestures to the circle of teens that are mostly already paired off. With one exception.

"Wait," Stiles says, looking around and coming to a certain conclusion. "Ah, come on," he sighs to the ceiling. "What did I do?" he asks the invisible deity causing his endless torture.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alright," Stiles starts as he enters his room. "Dad's got a late shift tonight so he won't be home until 2:30 and he won't be up until I'm gone for school." Derek's sitting shirtless and barefoot on his bed reading a book. "What are you doing?" he asks sourly.

"Getting ready for bed," Derek says like maybe Stiles has gone blind and can't see what's obviously happening. Which, in a way, he sort of has.

"Uh, yeah, except," Stiles waves a hand to the lounging werewolf, "that's _my_ bed."

"Where did you expect me to sleep?" Derek asks rhetorically.

"On the _floor_," Stiles gestures expressively to the sleeping bag lying there.

"No," Derek says, returning to his book.

"Uh..." Stiles sighs. "'No'? That's not really an option for you here. My house, my _bed_, my rules." Derek flashes his red eyes, like that actually affects Stiles. Well, at least not in the Alpha 'obey me' sense. And definitely not in any way he'll even admit to himself. "Should I call Scott?" Stiles threatens.

Derek looks at him like 'really?' And then shrugs. "If you want."

"Fine," Stiles huffs, whipping out his phone and pressing speed dial. "Scott," he starts.

"Stiles?" the tinny voice comes over the speakers and Stiles knows Derek can hear without it being on speaker. "What is it? Witches?" he asks frantically.

"No," Stiles calms. "Just... Derek is trying to Alpha eye his way into my bed." The sourwolf's jaw clenches.

"What?!" Scott asks incredulously. Derek flinches a little at the loud question.

"I think he should sleep on the floor. This is my house, I should not have to sleep on the floor."

"Oh, god, Stiles," Scott says, calming down. "That's why you're calling me? Just go to bed."

"But-" Stiles tries to retort but he's cut off by the call ending. Derek grins victoriously and keeps reading. "I'm not sleeping on the floor," Stiles states matter-of-factly.

"Alright," Derek shrugs. Stiles huffs and climbs under the sheets on the side of the bed Derek's fat werewolf ass isn't crushing.

"I hate you," Stiles sighs without much venom as he nearly hangs off the bed.

"Alright," Derek shrugs again.

Stiles throws the covers off himself and gets up to turn off the light. He finds his way back over to the bed and gets back under the covers. "Scoot over, fatass," he says as he pushes his butt against Derek's thigh in an attempt to move him. Derek grumbles and rolls to his side as he moves closer to the other edge of the bed. He throws one arm over Stiles as so they fit comfortably on the bed. The teen shoots straight up. "We are _not_ spooning."

"Calm down," Derek rebukes. "Your bed won't fit us if we aren't at least pretty close together."

"Well, that's not my fault," Stiles huffs out. After a beat, he concedes. "Fine, but I'm not little spoon."

"Whatever," Derek rolls his eyes and body simultaneously. Stiles wraps an arm around his waist and presses his face firmly into Derek's warm back. Stiles keeps breathing in and out really hard, not totally sure how he feels about the whole situation. He can practically feel Derek's heartbeat picking up with the anger he's going to use to rip out his throat, so Stiles makes an effort to calm down and soon enough he's asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey," he coos. "Hey, Stiles." Derek shakes the teen's shoulder softly as he leans over the bed. Stiles opens one grumpy eye to ridicule his waker and then grunts and closes it again. "Fine," Derek shrugs. "But you've only got twenty-five minutes to get to school."

Stiles does his standard leap out of bed move and throws his pajamas off. "You mind?" he asks pointedly at Derek as he realizes he's got company and covers his pale, white, exposed body.

"Not at all," Derek grins bemused but still turns around as he shakes his head. Stiles throws on some jeans and socks, a witty t-shirt and a flannel. He grabs his backpack and runs out of the room, stage-whispering, "You can let yourself out," as he goes.

* * *

The Jeep slams to a halt in the school parking lot as the five minute warning bell rings. Scott spots him from the steps where the pack is waiting for him. He waves Stiles over hurriedly, so the non-wolf teen hops out and starts jogging up to them. Of course, he doesn't see the petite blonde girl in the bright white summer dress that walks across his path until it's too late. An explosion of papers and various school supplies ensues.

"Oh my god," Stiles sighs. "I'm so sorry," he apologizes as he leans down to pick up the papers they both dropped.

"Oh, you're fine," the girl shrugs. "I probably should've been looking where I was going. New school and all," she chastises herself as she tucks her hair behind an ear and blushes.

"You're new?" he asks, looking up at her. He hadn't really seen her face until just now. She's pretty much exactly what he assumes an angel would look like. _Reminder to check bestiary for references of angels_. "Woah, what am I even saying?" Stiles says before she even has the chance to nod. "You are way too pretty for me to not have noticed you around here," he smiles goofily.

"Smooth," she giggles. Yeah, he's got skill.

"Mr. Stilinski," the principal says from the top of the steps. "I see you've already met our new student. I have a meeting. Would you show her around." It's not really a question, but Stiles nods anyways. Why would he not want to skip first period history to show the hot new girl around?

"So, uh," Stiles starts as suave as he can (which isn't very). "My name's Stiles. What's yours?"

She smiles warmly at him. "Your parents named you _Stiles Stilinski?_" she asks disbelievingly.

"Yep," Stiles lies. "Haunts me daily, ..." he trails off and gestures toward her with a questioning look.

"Triss," she supplies. "So..." she draws out, turning her head toward the school.

"Oh!" Stiles realizes. "Right. Showing you around. I am. I am showing you around!"

"Yes," she giggles cutely at his flusteration (ya know, flustered frustration?).

* * *

"And this," Stiles gestures. "Is the cafeteria. Where they serve what they call 'meals,'" he air quotes. He's had her giggling pretty much the entire time. Even if it has been mostly _at_ him and not _with_ him. Still a win.

"So," she asks shyly. "Could I, maybe, eat lunch with you today? I mean, I don't really have any friends here yet," she twists her foot in embarrassed anticipation.

"Sure," Stiles smiles. "But you've already got one friend here," he continues and she lights up at him.

To think: his day went from the _horrible_ werewolf spooning and late arrival at school to a cute girl actually _wanting_ to hang out with him. If it weren't for her small frame and really very churchy white dress, he'd swear she was a vampire or something._ Reminder to ask the pack of she might be a vampire at lunch._

"Cool," she says.

"Yeah," he replies.

They stand there for a minute and then she shifts a little toward him and-

The bell rings and students flood the hall. "We should probably get you to your second period class. Econ with Finstock, yeah?" She nods and takes his elbow so as not to get swept away by the flow of student bodies.

* * *

"Hey, guys," Stiles interrupts quickly as he plops down at the pack table. "Big news," he says to the annoyed glares he's getting. "There's a new girl and she likes me and she's having lunch with us and I need you to smell her when she gets over here to make sure she's not some creature who wants to eat me," he informs at Mach 6, then turns to greet the approaching teen girl, "Triss!" He stands and offers her the seat next to him. "This is everyone. Everyone, Triss," he gestures. "She's new and we're making her feel welcome."

"Hi, everybody," she waves politely, if a bit shy. Stiles looks at Scott questioningly, but the teen Alpha just shakes his head to signal he doesn't smell anything off.

"So," Lydia says, eyeing the girl's outfit, hair, and makeup. "Tell us about yourself and tell me where you shop."

"Uh," Triss starts. "I'm a transfer from Holy Oaks up in Oregon, and I shop at... Kohl's?"

"Hmm," Lydia judges. "Good enough," she approves as she returns to eating her apple and texting whoever it is that she is_ always_ texting.

The rest of the group starts introducing themselves and asking questions and Triss warms up to them quickly. Stiles inserts jokes and better introductions as necessary, and he barely realized that his hand moves to the back of her chair as he thinks.

He realizes that he might actually have a beautiful and funny girl to bring to homecoming. Sure, he said he didn't want to bring someone not in the supernatural loop, but he'll just be careful. She smiles at something Scott said and then meets Stiles eyes.

_Yeah, _he thinks_. I'll just be careful. What could go wrong?_

* * *

**A/N: Mwahaha! Stiles is in love with a girl! Fret not my fair readers: Sterek is always endgame.**

**Besides I've been droppin' hints like bombs.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hey, everyone. Sorry about the weird text formatting problems associated with the previous update for chapters 9-13. There was a file transfer error between my usual writing medium and the documents here that I hadn't anticipated. Hope you all still enjoy this story as I finally found time to continue one of my works :D

* * *

The bell rings to signal the end of lunch and the pack starts to disperse to their classes. "Can you help me find my fifth period class? I think I forgot where the gym is," Triss smiles.

Stiles opens his mouth to say sure, but is interrupted by Lydia. "Sorry, I need to talk to Stiles about our project before AP Psych starts. The gym's just down the hallway though," she smiles seemingly genuinely.

Stiles looks at Lydia in near shock. Triss shakes her head to clear her slight confusion but smiles, says "Okay, thanks," and waves to Stiles as she walks away.

"What the hell, Lyd?!" Stiles spits as they walk the other direction. "Are you sabotaging me?"

She levels a derisive glare at him. "Of course I'm not. I just had a feeling," she tips her head to the side. But Stiles doesn't get the memo so she whispers with exasperation, "A **_banshee_** feeling."

"Oh," Stiles breathes, eyes growing wide. "Wait, about Triss?" he asks frantically.

"No..." Lydia trails, trying to focus her abilities as they stop in a quiet corner of the bustling hallway. "I'm not sure. It's just a general feeling right now."

"Should we call Derek or Deaton?" Stiles supplies, steadying Lydia with a hand on her shoulder.

"Deaton. Deaton will know..." Lydia says. And then she faints.

Stiles catches her, but students passing take notice. "Low blood sugar," he waves off, pulling her up and carrying her towards the exit. He passes AP Psych on the way and informs the teacher he's taking Lydia to the nurse and maybe home. As they are the two top students, he dismisses them.

Once he and Lydia are both in his Jeep, he texts the rest of the Pack to let them know what's happening.

* * *

By the time they reach Deaton's, Lydia has stirred to semi-consciousness. Stiles helps her inside, where Deaton is talking to a pet owner. The woman is taken aback by the teenagers, one a girl seemingly in need of medical attention, as they stumble into the clinic. "Oh my god, are you okay, sweetie? Do we need to call someone?"

Lydia smiles weakly at the woman briefly and then looks seriously at Deaton. "Ms. Engleblom," the vet calls the woman's attention. "May we discuss your dogs RFID tag at a different time? This is one of my employees and I can help her without calling an ambulance."

"Oh," the woman sighs in understanding. "Of course Dr. Deaton. Feel better, dear," she says nicely as she exits the building. Deaton waits a moment and then flips the sign and locks the door behind her.

"What happened?" Deaton asks in calm haste.

"She had a-" Stiles starts, but Lydia pushes off of him to lean against the counter.

"I had a banshee moment. Something was blocking my vision though. I tried to push it away, but it pushed back. Definitely voodoo-y. So, explain," she commands.

Deaton taps his chin for a moment. "Likely the witch coven," he decides. "They must be planning some sort of mass sacrifice or perhaps just a chaotic conjuring. Either way, they know there's a banshee in play in Beacon Hills and they don't want you knowing what they're up to."

"Uh, excuse me?" Stiles raises his hand and steps forward. "How come when she asks a question she gets a clear answer and when I do it I get riddles or useless information?"

"She asks better questions," Deaton shrugs. "And she's scarier than you," the vet winks at the strawberry blonde teen.

"Ha. Ha," Stiles mock laughs.

"But I will need both of your help in determining what this coven wants," Deaton states, knowing both teens are up for whatever they need to do. "As much as it pains me," Deaton laments, waving the teens into his back office, "you will actually need to start casting, Stiles."

"Yes!" Stiles fist pumps. Lydia rolls her eyes at his juvenile excitement.

"Calm down. Nothing major," Deaton hands Stiles a small, old looking book with that strange ancient script on it. "I just need you to expand your spark so you can help Lydia pierce the obfuscation the coven is casting over themselves."

"What should I do?" Lydia inquires.

"Nothing," the vet replies simply. "You're naturally gifted at what you'll need to do."

"As per most things," Stiles sighs, though he's already flipping through the book, scanning the Ogham script and transcribing the letters in his head. "This isn't in English. Not even transcribed English. What language is it?"

Deaton rolls his eyes. "Typically Druids teach without blatant pedagogy, but I suppose I'll have to ignore tradition for the time being." Stiles raises an eyebrow in anticipation of an actual straight answer. "It's in Ancient Gaelic. Mostly. You'll have to figure the rest out for yourself," he waves the teens off. "Show yourselves out. I have patients."


	10. Chapter 10

After dropping Lydia back at the school so she could ride home with Jackson, Stiles headed back to his house to start decoding whatever was in this book Deaton gave him. He passed Parrish parked by the side of the road on the way and pulled over next to the squad car. He rolled down his window so they could talk. "You following me deputy?"

"Now why would I be doing that?" the handsome officer replied.

"Oh, there's so many reasons: my dad assigned someone in the supernatural know to quote-unquote protect me; I'm a well known teenage delinquent and you're trying to entrap me; not to mention I'm devilishly good looking and people tend to stalk me," he winks at his last comment.

Deputy Parrish chuckles lightly, "I think your dad knows better than that and I would never allow myself to be accused of entrapment."

"So you think I'm smokin' hot," Stiles smiles. "I knew it!"

"Move along Stiles," he waves. "I'm four years older than you and if you stay parked here I might just have to pull you over for interfering in police business. You already used your freebie from me the other day."

"Fine," Stiles says. "Speaking of," he chimes, voice thick with self-humoring innuendo, "what exactly do I _owe_ you for the other day?"

"Goodbye, Stiles," Parrish dismisses as he rolls up his window. Stiles smirks and continues home.

* * *

He probably shouldn't be surprised when he pulls into the driveway and Derek comes around the corner of the garage to meet him.

"Did you major in lurking in dark corners when you were in college in New York?"

"No," Derek replies shortly. "European literature. How did you know I went to college in New York?"

"I went through my dad's case files and yours was in there. Also, that time with the unicorns? I used one of your old college 10k tshirts to wipe up everybody's blood off the floor of your apartment." Derek nods, remembering the particularly brutal herd of unicorns that came through a few weeks prior. "European lit though," Stiles ponders. "You might be able to help me. Know any Gaelic?"

Derek scrunches his face a bit in confusion. "The basics. A number of etymological roots. I've tried to translate a few old family books from the vault that are in Gaelic, but it's a complicated language."

"Well," Stiles says, ushering the werewolf inside and waving the book that Deaton gave him. "You're gonna be better than I am at it and as long as we can pronounce things I think I can finally cast a spell or something!" He turns to share his excitement, but Derek has a pained look on his face as he ascends the last few steps behind Stiles. "What?"

"Are you sure you should be starting magic right now with the witches in town?"

"Uh... Yeah!" Stiles retorts. "Isn't it the best time? Even Deaton thinks it's a good idea." He touts the book as proof.

Derek sighs like he always does when he has to explain. "But don't you think if you're better at magic they'll want you in their coven even more?"

Stiles ponders it for a moment. "Eh," he shrugs. "I'll just say no." Before Derek can retort, Stiles pushes through the door to his room and throws his backpack onto his bed, shortly followed by himself. He pulls out a notebook and a pencil and starts transcribing the Ogham into the Latin alphabet so Derek can semi-translate. "What does this say?" he holds the scribbled letters up to the standing werewolf.

"Uh..." Derek squints at the page. "Circle? I think."

"Boring," Stiles says, flipping past the first half of the book, figuring that's where the good stuff is. He transcribes another heading and hands the notebook to Derek, now sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Fire," Derek says, and, seeing Stiles eyes light up, snatched the book from the teen. "That's a bad idea."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Fine. We'll do something 'safer,'" he concedes. He gets the book from Derek's grubby paws and flips back closer to the start and transcribes another title.

"Uh... Hold on, this actually does look familiar... Something about... I don't remember. Can't you just translate it online?" Derek asks, not remembering the few lessons in Gaelic he'd done on his computer.

"No," Stiles sighs in regret. "I tried that in the parking lot outside Deaton's. Nothing directly translates from modern Gaelic." He scribbles a transcription of the rest of what was on the page into the notebook. "Can you pronounce this?" he asks Derek, and it's then that the werewolf realizes the teen isn't snarling at him as much while they're working together.

"Sure," he says, taking the notebook. "_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe._.. Or at least I think that's what it's supposed to be."

"Okay," Stiles prepares, pulling himself up into a crisscross position on his bed and taking back the transcription. He clears his throat and reads back the incantation as Derek had, "_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe_." There's a shift in the air, but nothing really happens.

"Are you sure you didn't miss something? You don't even know what you're saying." Stiles puts up a finger to shush Derek. And repeats the incantation.

"_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe._" The air in the room begins to move in a soft breeze and Stiles repeats the incantation again, this time with more force. "**_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe!_**"

The air in the room begins to swirl violently, first whipping up loose papers and then tipping over lamps and pulling down picture frames and posters. "Stiles!" Derek shouts over the ruckus. But the teen seems to be in a trance, eyes glazed over and head tipped back as the wind swirls around him with the ancient spell book and 25¢ notebook in his lap. Derek feels his breath shortening in the turbulent room, so he pushes against the flow to slap Stiles in the face as hard as he can given the small hurricane.

The wind continues for a moment but eventually slows to stillness, Stiles' eyes simultaneously reverting to their standard amber color. "Woah," Stiles says, surveying his room. "That was cool." Derek growls and takes the book and the notes as he exits the room. "Oh, come on!" Stiles calls after him as he chases the sourwolf down the stairs to the front door. "Where are you even going?"

"**_We_** are going to Deaton's. He shouldn't have just given you this book. It's like giving the codes for nuclear bombs to a child prone to temper tantrums." Derek shoves his feet into his shoes and throws open the door taking Stiles keys and starting the Jeep.

"You are not driving my baby after you just insulted me! Or ever for that matter!" The teen calls as he fumbles to get his shoes on and lock the door behind him. He gets to the car to see Derek in the passenger seat and begrudgingly keeps his mouth shut on the ride to the vet.

* * *

_"Did you feel it?" the woman asks._

_"Of course," replies her elder._

_"What does it mean?" asks the third, the youngest._

_The old woman coughs harshly, then replies with a smile, "It means when we are done, we will be stronger than we have been in a very long time."_


	11. Chapter 11

Derek walks into the vet's office silently with Stiles in tow, stopping at the counter and tapping the service bell. "Just a moment, Derek," Deaton calls from the back. He rounds the corner with a smile, though it quickly fades to a somber expression when he sees Stiles.

"How did you know it was us?" Stiles asks.

"I didn't. I only knew it was Derek. But that's unimportant. What incantation did you cast?" he inquires quickly.

"_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe_," Stiles says and the air in the room moves slightly around him.

"I see... And you didn't read enough to know about casting the circle did you?" Deaton accuses.

"Well I saw that one was tagged with a sticky note and the first one in the book, but it sounded dumb. 'Circle,'" he mocks with air quotes.

"I marked it for a reason, Stiles," Deaton chides in quiet anger. He pulls down a large tome from behind a false wall in one of his cabinets. Opening the tome to a picture, he explains, "Sparks with potential, if they do not cast a circle, can lose control of an incantation. This is one example," Deaton points to the painting of an entire city ablaze. Underneath, it reads "The Great Fire of London, 1666." "We're lucky you didn't cast something more destructive."

Stiles looks sideways at Derek perhaps a bit sheepishly, before turning back to Deaton. "Well, I'll just cast the circle then. Problem solved," Stiles claps his hands and turns to go.

"Unfortunately, Stiles, it is no longer that simple," Deaton explains.

"Of course it isn't," Stiles laments, crumpling back to lean on the wall next to the door.

"Now that you have allowed the will of an incantation to flow through you, a single circle may not grant you control of subsequent castings."

"So what does he do now?" Derek asks.

"Nothing," Deaton deadpans, to Stiles disappointment. And he had just started using real magic. "If he can," Deaton chastises.

"I'll make sure of it," Derek assures, pulling Stiles by the arm out of the clinic.

* * *

"Just let me cast the circle," Stiles pleads as he and Derek enter the house.

"No," Derek grits out, certainly not for the first time. "You're not getting this book from me until Deaton says you can do more magic." Stiles grabs at the book as Derek waves it just out of his reach.

Stiles stops the childish game of keep away he was inadvertently participating in, and takes a deep breath. "Fine then. You leave me no choice: _Moh Thwil set Gwaothe_," the air begins to stir.

"Are you being serious right now?" Derek asks indignantly.

"**_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe_**," he repeats and the air is tangibly blowing in the sealed house.

"Stiles!" Derek warns, but the teen opens his mouth to speak again. The werewolf, refusing to break to Stiles' will because of a temper tantrum, slams the teen against the wall with his whole body, a large hand sealed over Stiles' mouth to keep the incantation from escaping. "You're being a ridiculous child. Stop messing with things beyond your control and just go to bed." The wind in the house dies down and the air between them becomes stagnant.

Derek lets go of the teen's mouth and Stiles doesn't say a word. He just levels a glare at the wolf before turning and heading up the stairs. When Derek eventually follows, he finds Stiles doing homework at his desk. "If you want to go to bed that's fine. I'm not going to make any noise. Sleep in the bed, I'll take the floor tonight."

"Stiles," Derek sighs as though the teen is being unreasonable. Mostly because he is. But Stiles just waves him off so Derek slips out of his shirt, socks, and pants and under the covers of the large twin size bed. He doesn't fall asleep though. He just listens. To the pen on the paper of Stiles' notebook. To the heart rate which must come from frustration not rooted in calculus problems. The eventual closing of his books, the brushing of his teeth, the slide of fabric over his skin. And, eventually, the steady, even breaths of sleep.

It's then that Derek gets up, gently moves the sleeping teen to the bed, and then slides into the sleeping bag. He knows it doesn't make sense. Stiles was the one acting crazy. Derek has nothing to apologize for or to feel bad about. But somehow, he still feels like he's the one in the metaphorical dog house. If only Stiles knew what he was thinking: the jokes he'd make.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles stirs awake to find that he's moved in his sleep. Seeing Derek on the floor, he feels a little bad for last night; but he's certainly not apologizing.

He quietly gets out of bed, brushes his teeth and gets ready for school. Auditions for the play start today after school and Ms. Triveni asked that Stiles and Erica help review the performances with her to build the cast. Thankfully he doesn't have to wear his costume.

Even on the drive to school, he's a bit distracted by the events from the day before. Which is why he doesn't notice that he blew through a stop sign until there are flashing lights and a short siren blip behind him.

"Shit," he sighs as he pulls over and rolls down his window.

"We need to stop meeting like this, Mr. Stilinski," Parrish mocks. "License and registration." He holds out his hand, but Stiles replies with a pair of kicked-puppy eyes. "No, Stiles. I let you off the hook the other day. You still owe me by the way."

"Can't I just owe you double?" Stiles pleads weakly.

"Stiles, I can't keep bending the rules for you just because we know each other and you're -" he composes himself. "You'll have to take the ticket on this one," he states with resignation.

"Fine," Stiles says, handing over his license and registration.

Parrish scribbles down the ticket information and rips it out of his booklet. "Speaking of you owing me one, though," the deputy starts. "Your dad assigned me all the back-filing in the department since I'm the rookie on the squad. Can you come to the station for a few days and help me with it?"

Stiles groans, "Sure. I've done the filing for my dad like a hundred times so it won't take me very long."

"Alrighty. Thanks, bud. Have a good day at school," Parrish winks as he walks back to his squad car.

* * *

Stiles is actually at the school by the first bell for once and he joins the pack at the top of the steps to chat before home room. "Stiles!" He hears from behind, turning to see Triss in another white dress carrying her notebooks for class.

"Hey, Triss. Ready for day two?" he smiles.

"Not really," she grimaces. "I spent most of the night studying and trying to catch up on all that my classes have done so far. You guys have only been in school for three weeks, how is there so much going on?"

"Ha, yeah, I have no clue. What all are you behind in? Maybe I could help you catch up," he smiles genuinely.

"Chemistry and precalculus are killing me. Oh, and French," the warning bell rings, "which I have to go to right now."

"Scott and I'll walk you. It's right across the hall from our homeroom." They disperse from the pack, Scott on Stiles' other side as they head to class.

"So," Scott begins. "Do they have homecoming up in Holy Oaks?"

Stiles gives him a harsh look for a brief moment, but Triss answers, "Not really. It's an all-girls boarding school. We have sort of dances where we all get dressed up and have a very lame party, but nothing like the dances I've seen on TV."

"Oh, well you should definitely come then," Scott smiles. Stiles contemplates blowing a handful of mountain ash in his best friend's face.

Triss tucks her hair behind her ear bashfully. "I mean, I would definitely go if someone asked me," she smiles shyly.

Scott gives Stiles a prompting look but Stiles just telepathically tells him to fuck the hell off. So, Scott blurts, "Well, you know it's next Friday and Stiles doesn't have a date yet." And then he walks into the classroom, leaving the two of them outside with an awkward pause in the conversation.

"Sorry about him. And that," Stiles apologizes.

"Don't apologize," she smiles. "Is it true?" she asks hopefully. "That you don't have a date I mean. I would've thought girls would be lining up for a cute, funny guy like you." Stiles is taken aback by how genuine she sounds.

"Haha," he chuckles in self-deprecation. "Not so much. I'm the nerdy best friend to all the hot guys at this school."

"Oh, okay," she accepts turning her head toward her classroom. "Well I better get in there," she turns to take a step.

"Wait," Stiles says after the brief but pregnant pause, his arm outstretched to stop her. "Do you... maybe... want to go to homecoming? With me?"

"Of course," she smirks at him warmly and then walks into French. "See you at lunch."

Stiles heads into history as the second bell begins to ring. Plopping down next to Scott, his best friend leans over and whispers, "You're welcome." But Stiles just shakes his head with a smile on his lips.

* * *

"So," Lydia says, closing her phone as Triss sits at the otherwise yet empty pack lunch table. "I hear you're going to homecoming with Stiles."

Triss isn't sure about the tone of Lydia's voice or her implications. "Yes?" she replies simply.

"Well then," Lydia states flatly, but then smiles, "you'll have to join us girls to go dress shopping Saturday." Triss sighs a bit in relief.

Allison and Kira approach with their trays and sit next to Triss. "Is she coming?" Allison asks Lydia.

"Yep," Lydia replies quickly, now back on her phone.

"Did you tell her the other thing?" Kira asks and Lydia looks up.

"Not yet," she says. "I thought it would be best if we were all here for that."

"Good point," Allison notes. She turns to Triss, "This is cliché, I know, but Stiles is a great guy, and if you hurt him..." she shrugs. "Let's just say I'm a world class marksman in archery."

"Also," Kira adds, "I have mad skills with a katana."

The three other girls look at Lydia expectantly. The strawberry blonde looks up from her phone, "Oh, right," she composes herself. "I can ruin your entire reputation with less than four phone calls." She looks down again, "I can also mix an undetectable poison that will kill a horse with less than a milliliter dose."

After a short pause, the boys and Erica come over to the table loudly. "What's up?" Stiles asks happily as he sits next to the new blonde girl.

"Just talking homecoming outfits," Lydia smiles.

"Oh. Alrighty. Hey, Lyds," Stiles asks, "who are you always texting?"

"What?" Lydia says. "Oh," she stuffs her phone in her purse. "You know, pen pal."

Jackson's face gets confused. "I didn't know you had a pen pal. I thought you were always texting your mom and your aunt."

"Well, yeah," Lydia huffs. "Them too. Don't worry about it," she flicks her hair and that's the end of it.

"Hey," Triss calls as she walks from her last class to her locker.

"Hey," Stiles greets warmly. "Nice to see the school day didn't kill you."

"Ha, well, it's not the only thing that wanted to," she jokes lightly. Stiles gives her a sideways look but she plays it off. "So, can you help me catch up? I was thinking we could go to the library or a coffee shop?"

"Sure!" Stiles agrees as he's putting his returned homework in its places around his organized chaos called a locker. Which reminds him, "Oh crap! I can't actually. I have to go to the play auditions and then I promised a friend I'd help him with something," Stiles grimaces, remembering his promise to help the deputy after school stuff was over.

"Oh," Triss breathes. "Okay. Well, maybe another time?"

"Definitely," Stiles assures with a smile.

"Speaking of the play, though. Where are the auditions?"

"Just in the auditorium. Are you going to try for a part?"

"I don't know. I don't think I'd do very well, but my mom is pushing me to try new things," she admits.

"It's too bad that there's no spot open for Juliet. You'd be a shoe in," he praises. It earns a laugh from her and they head to the auditorium.

* * *

"Wow," Erica says after the last person to audition is finished. "Some of those made me want to wash my eyes out with bleach."

Ms. Triveni giggles but Stiles shoots Erica a look. "But some were _really_ good." He turns to the drama teacher, "Are you sure we should play the lead roles?"

"Oh, of course, Stiles," she confirms. "Why, your performance in class the other day was _phenomenal_. I wouldn't dream of having anyone else play your part."

"Thanks," Stiles accepts sheepishly. Erica just huffs.

* * *

"Hey, Parrish," Stiles says, bursting into the file repository in the sheriff's office. "So, here's the thing, I have a pending study date with this amazingly hot new girl at school. Which means we need to do this filing in high gear so I can repay my debt and then get back to my hormonal teenage situations."

"Ha, ha," Parrish chuckles. "Wait, are you serious?" he asks disbelievingly.

"Uh, yeah. Girls can be interested in me," he retorts indignantly.

"No, I know," Parrish says. Then quietly, he adds, "I was more shocked by _you_ liking girls." He thinks back to all the flirting. With him, with Derek, with Danny, with other guys. He figured Stiles was gay but just keeping it from his dad, hence his being the only one in his group of friends not in a relationship and maintaining an unrealistic crush on Lydia Martin. Who he now remembers he needs to talk to.

"What?" Stiles calls from under a stack of papers. "I didn't catch that last part."

"Nothing," Parrish replies.


	13. Chapter 13

"Deaton called," Derek says as Stiles enters his room, almost giving the teen a heart attack.

"Jesus, Derek," he says, grasping his chest. "Give a guy some warning."

"Sorry," Derek allows. "But Deaton called. He said to meet him in the preserve when you got home from school. Where have you been?"

"I was doing Deputy Parrish a favor. Don't worry about it," he brushes it off. "Should we go then?" Derek just walks past him out to his Camaro.

* * *

"Woah," Stiles notes as they pull into the wide clearing. Deaton was standing in the middle of the tall grass with his arms folded, clearly having been waiting a while. "It's weird seeing Deaton outside of the clinic. Like seeing a teacher at the grocery store."

"Just go over there Stiles," Derek commands.

"Aren't you coming?" Stiles asks.

"No. Deaton said to drop you off and then leave." Stiles grimaces, but gets out and makes the long walk to where Deaton is standing.

"Nice of you to join me," the vet says flatly. Stiles opens his mouth to explain how Derek never called him or he would have been there sooner, but Deaton just holds up a finger. "It's fine. I need to get a sense of how much you expanded your spark by using an unbound incantation. That will aid me in determining how we will reign in your casting," he explains pretty plainly.

"Okay," Stiles nods. "But why are we in the preserve?"

Deaton raises an eyebrow. "Cast the incantation," he commands.

Stiles is a little unsure at first, but he recalls the words easily and begins, "_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe_," the air stirs more than it had indoors. "**_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe_**," the tall grass is swaying in a circular pattern around Stiles, though he notes a small area around Deaton where the air is still. "**_Moh Thwil set Gwaothe!_**"

The wind picks up in a way it had not in Stiles' bedroom. It spreads past the corners of the clearing, and though Stiles is aware of everything that's happening, he has no control of his body or the incantation. The spiraling winds begin to pull him upward, away from the ground, and Deaton seems a bit surprised.

When a few small trees rip free from the ground at the edge of the clearing and begin to spiral upward, the druid begins chanting something Stiles can't hear over the roaring wind. Storm clouds begin to form overhead and Stiles is aware of the crackling of electricity around him. When he looks back down to find Deaton, he realizes how far he's risen. He's easily 300 feet above the ground and he can see dark clouds circling for miles in each direction over the preserve. He's panicking, locked inside his head, witnessing what's going on, but unable to do anything about it. It reminds him of being possessed by the Nogitsune. And he hates it.

With a sudden crack, lighting jumps between clouds near him, creating a concussive wave that throws him toward the ground, spiraling in the dying but still whirling winds.

Stiles realizes he can move again, but flailing isn't going to make him fly and he's suddenly aware that this is probably going to be the end. Fucking magic. That's how he dies. By a backfiring spell.

About thirty feet from the ground, he suddenly changes direction when a large body comes flying into him from the side. A half second later he and his savior are rolling across the wind-torn field and rocks are unpleasantly abrading his skin. He groans in pain, "Ow..."

"It's better than being dead, isn't it?" Isaac comments, cracking his back, scrapes already healing. "And you're welcome." The rest of the pack slowly emerges from the broken trees at the edges of the clearing.

"I thought I told you to bring Stiles and go, Derek," Deaton shouts as he walks to the two landed teens with purpose. "Not bring the whole pack."

"Sorry, Deaton," Derek replies calmly. "But I think we all needed to see this. Also, Stiles would have died if not for Isaac, so I think it was a good call."

Deaton shakes his head. "I would have handled it, and Stiles wouldn't have been hurt. I know he's part of your pack, Derek, but you don't understand the mystic arts like I do so you need to trust my decisions regarding Stiles from here on out," he asserts.

Scott steps forward as Derek's demeanor grows antagonistic. "It's okay Deaton. We will listen from now on. But that also means you need to be less cryptic and more transparent."

Deaton nods his head. "Very well," he turns to Stiles. "We'll need to perform a binding ritual. Your spark has expanded far beyond the scope of casting a simple circle to grant control. The binding will significantly reduce your ability to cast anything for the time being, but it will grant you significantly better control in the future."

"Okay," Stiles winces as Allison helps him up. Yep, he definitely cracked or bruised a few ribs in that fall. Hopefully just bruised. "What does the ritual entail?"

"I can take care of most of it," the druid states plainly, but simultaneous reminding looks from the two alphas prompt him to qualify, "Just a variety of traditional Druid ingredients. The important thing is that Stiles brings an object, something small that can be easily and inconspicuously worn or concealed. It has to mean something profound to you."

"Okay. I know what I'll bring. When are we doing this?" Stiles asks eagerly.

"Unfortunately it will have to be tonight during the full moon. Otherwise we'll need to wait another month. Since it's a full moon, it's probably best that the werewolf members of the pack do not attend," he says directly to Scott and Derek.

Derek nods but Scott retorts, "We all have control over our shifts now. We'll be fine."

"It's true that we all possess general control during the full moon, Scott," Derek explains, "but magic can be strange and we should avoid it when we're more vulnerable." The younger Alpha nods in understanding.

* * *

Late that night, having informed his dad he was studying with Lydia, Allison, and Kira at Derek's loft, Stiles rolls up to a new clearing in the preserve at which Deaton had instructed them to meet.

The girls are already there. "Hey," Kira coos. "Are you nervous?" she asks hesitantly.

Stiles and Lydia share a brief glance. "Projecting," they say simultaneously. Kira scrunches up her face. "But, sort of," Stiles answers honestly.

"What did you bring?" Lydia asks, maneuvering her head to try to see the small object in Stiles' right hand.

He opens his fist to reveal a broad but simple silver ring. It was clearly very old and was hammered, so the surface was not entirely smooth but instead light reflected off at varying angles. Stiles always thought it looked like dragon scales. "It's a family heirloom. My mom gave it to me before she died. It's part of a set. This one was my grandpa's, the other my grandma's. My mom was an only child so she got both when my grandparents passed away."

"It's beautiful," Allison praises.

"Indeed," Deaton agrees as he walks out of the shadows of the trees with full Druid robes on. "And I can sense you in it. It's a good choice."

"I wasn't aware this was a black robe occasion," Lydia remarks as she stands in her olive green pumps and matching dress.

Deaton pulls three similar but smaller robes from a bag he had been carrying. "The robes are enchanted. They will protect you from any residual energy that may hang in the air during the ritual."

"Works for me," Kira says, grabbing one of the garments and draping it over herself. The two other girls follow suit and then Stiles is left the only one wearing street clothes.

"What, no special robe for the guy getting bound to a ring?" Stiles asks dubiously.

"Actually," Deaton smiles. "It's best if you're not wearing anything for the binding."

"Oh, ha, ho, no no no," Stiles wags his finger. "I am not getting naked in front of my best friend's girlfriend and ex-girlfriend and one of my most epic crushes of all time."

"Oh my god," Lydia realizes for the first time. "Do you girls realize _all_ three of us have kissed Scott?" Deaton shakes his head at the teenagers.

"Oh, come on, Lyds," Stiles moans. "I've kissed Scott too. It's nothing to write home about and it is not the current issue here."

The girls all look somewhere between confused and shocked, but it's Allison who asks, "You kissed Scott?"

"We were 14. We were bored. It was a peck really. Can we please just do the ritual?" he pleads.

"Please," Deaton agrees. The girls quiet down. "Stiles," the druid gestures for him to disrobe. Stiles whines but takes off everything but his underwear. "Stiles," Deaton says more sternly.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Just, could you all put your hoods up and at least pretend to avert your eyes?" Kira giggles and Allison chokes down a few small laughs of her own, but they all pull up their hoods and look away. Stiles takes off his boxers and hears a small humph of approval from Lydia, though she immediately turns her head when he looks toward the sound. He bundles up his clothes and throws them over into the woods.

"Alright," the hooded man says as he pulls out nine wooden marbles. "**_Soulas, Iohn, Dotehán_**," he breathes three times and the beads lift from his hand, begin to burn with white flames, and encircle the five of them.

"The five-fold knot," Stiles realizes, taking stock of their positions.

"Yes," Deaton affirms. "The Darach used it to bind herself to the Nemeton. We're going to use it to bind you to the ring."

"This is why you didn't want the others here. You only needed Kira, the virgin," he turns to her with an apologetic shrug, and she embarrassedly waves him off. "Allison, the warrior; Lydia, the scholar; and you're the healer. So I'm the guardian?" he tries to piece it together.

"No," the druid explains. "The ring is the guardian. But it's less about the definitive meaning and more about the essence. In any case, we need to get on with it before the moon reaches its apex." Stiles nods. "Hold the ring in your palm face up." Stiles does as instructed. Deaton takes a deep breath before chanting:

"_Nahoi Coililte Naifha..._

_Ahn Feín Ceanghal..._

_Fanachte Ahr Fadí..."_

The grass braids itself into the fivefold knot around the group and the balls of flame hanging in the air grow brighter.

Even though he knows it's a magical ceremony and there are more important things to worry about, Stiles can't help but try to determine whether all of his girl friends, friends who are girls, are looking at his naked frame, chilled by the preserve's night air. When he tilts his head to see under Kira's hood, however, he finds her eyes are glowing white. He looks to find that Allison's glow red and Lydia's deep violet. Deaton's eyes glow green, but they are still in focus. "Are you controlling them?" Stiles accuses. Deaton shakes his head no, which starts to royally piss Stiles off because the guy had been so explanatory and now he's not saying a word. But, after a moment, Stiles realizes it's just because he can't say anything in the middle of casting the ceremony or it will be broken. In fact, he guesses, it's probably the incantation that has them entranced.

Deaton begins to chant again, but this time is joined by the other three:

"**_Nahoi Coililte Naifha..._**

**_Ahn Feín Ceanghal..._**

**_Fanachte Ahd Fadí..._**"

All five begin to lift from the ground and the ring lifts from Stiles' palm. The grass knot is pulsating with light and energy now. The balls of flame tighten in their rotation so that they now only encircle Stiles.

The others all chant again, but with more volume than before:

"**_Nahoi Coililte Naifha..._**

**_Ahn Feín Ceanghal..._**

**_Fanachte Ahd Fadí..._**"

A strand of energy comes from each of the four around him and encircle Stiles. The nine flames spiral into the ring floating just above his hand and he feels a surge of energy passing to and from the ring. The light around him grows until it's almost blinding, and then...


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles stirs awake on a soft bed of grass. He's a bit chilly, but not as much as he thinks he should be. "Oh, thank god," he sighs gratefully as he feels the soft sheet covering most of his body from mid-calf to armpits.

Kira and Allison both laugh a little, but Lydia just slaps her thighs and stands from the log she'd been sitting on. "Good of you to join us," she says. "Now can we please go somewhere warmer and not as creepy. The forest keeps whispering to me."

"Where's Deaton?" Stiles notes, looking around.

"He went back to his clinic," Allison supplies. "He said he had more patients to treat."

"Man, does everyone in Beacon Hills use him as a vet?" Stiles asks rhetorically. "He's always like, 'I have patients,' and then leaves."

"It's fine though," Kira adds. "He said everything we needed him for was done." She points to Stiles' finger where the ring now rests. "He also said that's normal and you'll learn to make it fade in and out."

"What?" Stiles follows her line of sight. "My ring?"

"No," Lydia corrects, shivering as she kneels in the grass and takes his hand. "This," she removes the ring and a shadow image of it fades into existence on his finger.

"Oh," Stiles blinks, taking back the ring from Lydia. "I'll definitely need to hide this from my dad."

"Yeah. Now let's go before we freeze to death," she commands.

Stiles looks around for his clothes. He spots them next to Allison's feet. "Can you hand me those?" he asks her reaching toward the articles.

"Yeah," Allison says, picking up the clothes and stepping over to the boy teen. He pulls his underwear and pants on under the sheet and then pulls on his hoodie and shoes, wrapping his socks and t-shirt up in the nice sheet as he stands.

* * *

The second the door slides open to Derek's loft, Scott is on top of his best friend with questions, "How did it go? Did it hurt at all? Are you good now? What did you bind to?"

"Woah," Stiles says, pushing the Alpha back a few steps. "It was fine. I'm fine. And now I have to wear this ring all the time." He holds up his right hand, ring resting well fit on his middle finger.

Scott takes a breath, hugs his friend and then steps back. "Sorry, I was just worried. Okay," he pulls up Stiles hand and wiggles the ring. "Why do you have to wear it all the time? It's not stuck." Stiles pulls it off and the shadow appears. "Oh, yeah. You're dad would definitely question a tattoo."

Stiles nods. "Anyway, how's the full moon party?"

"It's fine," Scott shrugs. "Erica and Isaac got in a fight that Derek and I had to break up. Plus Derek and I have just been generally on edge all night, which means we all have really, I think we just feel the most responsible for you. But now that you guys are back I think everyone will calm down." He patted Stiles on the back before greeting Kira. The other girls dispersed to their boyfriends around the loft.

"How'd it go?" Derek asks from where he's leaning on the counter when Stiles enters the kitchen to get a snack.

"It was fine," he says, pulling a granola bar out of a jar. "Kinda creepy and I had to be naked in front of the girls," he scrunches up his face as he takes a bite of the snack.

Derek swallows hard, and clears his throat a little before speaking again with his generally nonchalant demeanor. "What'd Deaton say about you casting now?"

"He didn't -" Stiles starts as he leans against the opposite counter, but he's cut off by Allison coming to get a snack.

"He actually said you should be fine to cast spells now and he wants you to. Something about helping Lydia needing you to be stronger?" She opened the fridge and took out a go-gurt, slicing it open with one of the knives at her hip.

"Yes!" Stiles celebrates, turning to Derek. "I get the book back now," he smiles. Derek just shakes his head and goes to join the rest of the pack in the living room.

* * *

As the night winds down, most of the pack goes home in pairs to sleep. Stiles isn't very tired though. Derek had made him wait through the party before giving him back his spellbook. Now that he had it, he was hell-bent on furiously transcribing the pages from cover to cover as he sat on the floor next to the sofa.

"Here," he says, holding out the notebook to Derek. "What does this one say?"

Derek rolls from his napping position on the couch to look at the scribbled words. "Uh…" he thinks it over in his bleary-eyed sleepiness. "Something about things being pure or clean or something." Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. "I don't speak Ancient Gaelic, Stiles. Sorry, I don't know what you were expecting," he shrugs and rolls back over to rest his eyes until the teen decided it was time to go home and go to bed.

* * *

Derek awoke an hour and a half later to the sound of loud snoring near his abdomen. He had dozed off soon after telling Stiles he couldn't translate. Stiles must've fallen asleep while trying to continue transcribing the spellbook. The teen's neck was bent awkwardly onto the couch in what would certainly give him a cramp by morning. Derek shook Stiles by the shoulder to wake him. "Hey. Hey, Stiles. We should get you home."

Stiles stirs groggily. "Mmmhmm… No," he says, rubbing at his eyes. "I'll just sleep here." He grabs his phone with his eyes still half shut and shoots off a text of "_staying at Derek's tonight with Pack. Home tomorrow._" to his dad. He puts his head back down on the couch and seems to be quickly drifting off again.

"You dork," Derek mumbles as he sits up. "You should at least sleep on the couch." Stiles groans at the idea of getting himself moved onto the couch, but begrudgingly pulls himself onto laying across it as Derek gets up to go to his bedroom.

Before climbing the stairs, he looked back. He walked back over and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch over the already fast-asleep teen.


	15. Chapter 15

_"T-Triss?" Stiles stammers as he pulls himself backward away from her, his leg bleeding crimson onto the floor of the high school hallway. "Triss, why are you doing this?!" he begs as she slowly walks toward him with a long, broad blade soaked in what must be his own blood._

_She begins to laugh maniacally. "Isn't it obvious?" She's suddenly upon him, whispering in his ear, though her voice is now deep and deranged, "I want to steal your spark."_

* * *

Stiles snaps awake in a cold sweat as Derek pounds down the stairs. "What's wrong?!" the Alpha calls as he hurdles over the loveseat in his boxers to slide in next to Stiles on the floor.

Stiles takes in a deep breath and waves him off. "Just a bad dream," the teen tries to trivialize, though he's clearly a bit thrown by how real it felt.

Derek just huffs, patting Stiles on the shoulder before standing up to go put on some clothes. "It's half past 7 o'clock," Derek notes. "Shouldn't you be going home to get ready for school?"

"If it wasn't Saturday," Stiles snarks back. Derek furrows his brow. "What, you don't know what day of the week it is? You really need a job or something. Wait, do you have a job?" The werewolf pauses, caught off gaurd. It was a subject he didn't often bring up. He's an adult, of course he has ways of making money, the teens just never asked. Because he took a beat too long to respond, Stiles cut back in, "I mean, it's fine if you don't. It would explain why you live in this dump. But not the Camaro…" the teen taps his chin.

"Of course I have a job, Stiles," Derek deadpans.

"Oh, cool," Stiles smiles. "What is it?"

"I do stock exchanges. Also, my place is not a dump. You seem to come here - often uninvited - enough to prove that point."

"Pssh," the teen waves off. "Teenagers hang out in dumps all the time. But really? Stocks?"

"Yeah," Derek says. "I had a minor in economics at college and with the insurance and property left after my parents, Laura and I had quite a bit of savings and investments to accrue dividends."

"So you set your own hours then?" Stiles asks pensively.

"Yeah," Derek allows. "Why?"

"Well, that means you're not necessarily doing anything today, which means you can help me translate this spellbook," he finishes with a smile.

Derek slumps his shoulders, already exhausted at the thought of it. "Who says I want to?" he sighs with a hint of intimidation.

"Well," Stiles ponders, "you put yourself on watch Stiles duty because of the witches and if you help me I can help Lydia break the haze the coven is casting over her visions and we can find them and take them out." Derek mulls it over for a moment before Stiles adds, "Or I can just try to randomly pronounce a few of these spells from the back of the book."

The teen opens the notebook he's been transcribing into and starts to incant when Derek speaks up, "Let me put some clothes on."

* * *

"I made breakfast," Stiles says as the werewolf comes down the stairs with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on, his laptop tucked under his arm. Derek grunts in approval of the bacon and egg scent wafting toward him. "By the way, you need to restock on the essentials: butter, eggs, flour, coffee."

"I'll have Isaac pick some up when he comes home today." Derek sits down in front of one of the plates at the bar at the edge of the kitchen, opening the laptop and clicking on some of his bookmarked pages on Ancient Gaelic from when he'd been translating books from the Hale vault.

"What's all this?" Stiles asks, looking at the open laptop as he comes around to sit next to Derek in front of the other plate of food.

"Just some language resources I've come across."

Stiles nods. "We should translate the transcribed titles first so I have a sense for what each incantation does," he notes, reaching out for his cup of coffee as he looks at the screen. Derek looks over at him just as the steaming mug slides across the counter into Stiles hand seemingly of its own volition. Derek shakes his head. Best not to inflate Stiles' confidence prematurely.

* * *

"Okay," Stiles sighs after two hours on the Ancient Gaelic sites. "So we've roughly translated five of these: purification, illumination, plant growth, some sort of binding spell, and what seems like telekinesis since it just says 'move.' Which one do you think we should start with?"

"I don't know," Derek sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "I honestly don't think you should be doing any of them, but you might as well pick one." _They all seem harmless enough,_ he thinks to himself.

"Well, after last time, I might as well start at the beginning." He gets up from the seat on the couch, gets a glass of water, and ruffles through Derek's cupboards before pulling out what looks to be cocoa powder. With a nod of "Good enough," he dumps a small handful of powder into the glass of water and stirs it with his finger. "Alright," he says, setting down the glass on the coffee table in front of Derek. "Ready?"

"Sure," Derek mumbles, leaning back and away. Just in case.

Stiles looks at the glass intently, though he shifts his gaze for a moment to read off the incantation: "_Iohn, Galahn, Ahr Moh Thwil_." The water begins to swirl slightly. He repeats the incantation and the larger clumps of cocoa powder start to dissolve. The final utterance of the spell results in a sudden spiraling of the water in the glass, the muddy brown color slowly fading to a crystal clear liquid.

Derek waits a moment, half expecting something to explode. "Well," he sighs. "Looks like we don't need a Brita filter anymore."


End file.
